Winston looked down at his drink. A maraschino cherry on a stick did little to enervate a cocktail when the nearest the glass had got to a bottle of tequila, was three shelves of a supermarket. Whose stupid idea was it to have a stag do for Jim?
Oh yes.
Winston had been teetotal now for two-hundred and seventeen days. It wasn’t as if he’d been a drunk to begin with, not unless you counted a Friday night blowout as being an alcoholic. His trouble was the relaxation that came after so much as half a pint of cheap lager. The veves on his chest opened a portal to the realm of the dead; a portal he would rather was kept firmly shut.
They were hardly noticeable. Pennie, during their two brief nights together, had merely asked: “Where did these scars come from? Were they a gang initiation?” He’d almost replied when she ran her tongue along them and coherent thought left the building.
At least he wasn’t alone in his misery. Harold had been sent by Julie and Felicia to ensure he didn’t suffer alone. The shopkeeper wasn’t happy with a Lemonade Sunrise either.
“I say!” Harold raised his cane, trying to attract the attention of the skimpily clad teenager at the bar.
“That won’t do any good, mate,” said Winston, wishing he were anywhere but here. “This is a pub not a restaurant. You have to go to the bar if you want anything.”
“I was trying to avoid that,” Harold confessed. “There’s a press of people there that I’d rather not be pressed against. Do you think we could go somewhere a tad quieter?”
“Not until Jim gets here,” said Winston. “This is where I said we’d meet him.”
“I rather like the place,” said Pennie, who had tagged along hoping to see the man who had trashed her flat and caused her death. “I wish I’d come here last night. I might have got my brains shagged out and still be alive.”
“Who can say what the fates decree us,” said Winston. “When your time comes there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I beg to differ,” said Harold. “I was on my deathbed once and refused to die. I was up and about again the next day.”
“Yeah, your mom told me that,” said Winston. “And about the time you saved the world from the second coming.”
“Did I? I don’t remember doing that.” Harold took out a notebook and pen and scribbled it down. “I’ll ask her.”
Pennie giggled at Winston’s expression of disbelief. “I think he actually means it,” she said.
“I do.” Harold looked straight at her. “What I want to know, though, is how you’re wandering about like you were still alive. When my uncle became mortally challenged he was confined to the environs of his death.”
“You can see me?” said Pennie. “Hear me?”
“Of course.” Harold downed his drink. “I just wish I could ask you to go to the bar. You’d get through the press no bother.”
“I couldn’t carry anything back though.” Pennie shrugged.
“Oh I don’t know.” Winston grinned. “Pretty girl like you should be able to pick up a couple of spirits.”
“Oh! Very funny.” Harold laughed.
“What is?”
Jim stood over the table, blinking against the flashing lights. “Sorry if I’m a bit late,” he said. “I think I overslept a bit. Did you get me a pint in?”
“No mate.” Winston looked over to the bar, where a throng of people still harried the two people behind the bar. “It’s murder trying to get a drink here.”
“Oh. That’s all right.” Jim put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The girl behind the bar looked up and Jim held up three fingers and pointed down at his table. The girl gave him a thumbs up signal. Three minutes later a tray of drinks were passed from hand to hand over the punters’ heads. Jim dropped a tenner on the tray and sent it back.
“How did you manage that?” Winston asked. “I’ve been coming here years and I’ve never had service like that.”
Jim grinned. “I went to school with her sister,” he said. “I used to help her out when I worked at the factories.”
“What, with homework and so on?” Harold frowned.
“Nah. I used to nick stuff for her. Clothing warehouses, make-up shipments, that kind of thing.” He smiled, looking almost desirable under the taint of pure evil that Harold and Winston both suspected was there. “I miss those times,” he said.
“Why?” asked Winston. “You used to spend all day trying not to do any work and then complain come Friday that they hadn’t paid you for the mornings you’d come in late. Now you’re the director of a cutting edge tech company. You’ve got your own hours, your own staff and as many breaks as you want. You’ve got more money to play with than anyone I’ve ever met, and you’re about to marry my sister. You’re the luckiest man alive.”
“Hur! I suppose I am.” Jim grinned into his pint, looking sideways at Winston. “I haven’t got you to look after me, though, and I get these headaches all the time what won’t go away.”
“Headaches?” Harold put his beer down. He’d only taken a few sips but it made him a bit lightheaded all the same. “What sort of headaches?”
“Pains in me head,” said Jim. He put his drink down and dipped his head, rubbing his temples. “Sometimes they’re here and sometimes they’re at the base of me skull.” He tipped forward, his fingers pressing into the hollow at the top of his spine.
“Not right now, like, else I’d have to go for a lie down but they happen most days. I sleep it off, but it’s a bit worrying. I never had nothing like this working at Wheaton’s.”
“Wheatons?” Harold asked.
“The factory we were lathe operators at,” explained Winston. “How long have you had these headaches, Jim? This is the first time you’ve mentioned them.”
“Since I got the job, really.” Jim grinned and leaned forward, whispering in a conspiratorial voice. “If I wasn’t the director I’d get the sack. I’m hardly ever there.” He chuckled and downed the rest of his pint. “Anyone want another?”
“No thanks.” Harold looked into his beer. It was really too gassy for his digestive system. If he didn’t leave the table soon, he was going to embarrass himself in front of the young lady. “Can we go somewhere else? I’d be partial to a cup of tea.”
“There’s the White Art,” said Winston. “They serve beer and tea all night. Coffee too, if you’re into that.”
“I like it here, though,” said Jim. “It’s noisy here. I don’t get headaches when it’s noisy.” He sang a few bars of the song playing on the television screens.
“It’s noisy at the White Art too,” said Winston. “They get the teachers from the comprehensive in there on a Friday. They’ll be having their darts match.”
“Ah.” Jim nodded and smiled. “I remember them from when we were kids. You had to buy the teachers a pint, else they’d shop your real age to the barman.” He clapped Winston on the back. “All right,” he said. “One more in here and then we’ll go up to the Art.”
“This is the same bloke, isn’t it?” said Pennie to Winston. “This is Jim Hunt. Only don’t get me wrong, but this bloke looks as if he couldn’t find his arse with both hands. How can he have made a robot bent on killing people?”
“This is Jim all right,” said Winston as the director of Magelight Communication stood up and gesticulated at the bar again. “This is the Jim I worked with all those years. The one I helped through his apprenticeship. I haven’t seen him like this in ages. It’s as if he’s back to his normal self.”
He frowned and looked at Harold but the shopkeeper was staring at the people dancing. Winston kicked him under the table.
“Don’t you need the toilet?” he asked as Harold scowled at him, rubbing his shin.
“You can tell, can you?” Harold nodded. “I’ll be a minute or two.” He got up and pushed his way through the crowd. Winston watched him waver along the dance floor.
“Go with him,” he said to Pennie. “Tell him that Jim’s not possessed.”
“That’s obvious,” said Pennie. “Nobody could be that much of an idiot unless they were possessed by Goofy the…whatever Goofy was supposed to be.”
“A dog, I think,” said Winston. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The point is, Jim’s usually been possessed and now he isn’t. I don’t know why not, but if we can work it out we can drive the demon away.”
“Goofy can’t be a dog,” said Pennie, wincing as Jim put a pint of beer on the table, straight through her hand. “Pluto was a dog and he was far more intelligent than Goofy.”
“I don’t know then,” said Winston.
“Don’t know what?” asked Jim.
“What Goofy was,” said Winston.
“A dog, wasn’t he?” Jim sat down. “Drink up mate, you’ve got two pints in front of you there.”
“Thanks.” Winston gave a half-hearted smile. “You know, I don’t actually drink any more.”
“It won’t hurt, it’s only a couple of pints.” Jim punched him on the shoulder. “I’ve seen you put away a dozen of those and not miss a step. You can make an exception for my stag night, surely? This time tomorrow I’ll be your brother.”
“I suppose,” Winston said. “I’ve tried to keep off the pop since the accident.” He scratched his chest absently. “You’re right though, one won’t hurt, will it?”
“That’s the spirit.” Jim downed his second and picked up Harold’s untouched refill, placing it in front of himself. He winked. “He won’t know.” He stood up again to signal. “One for the road then.”
* * * *
“Its times like this I wish I were still alive.”
Harold jumped, and missed the urinal, splashing the floor and having to skip backwards. “You’re not allowed in here,” he said. “This is the gents.”
“I don’t know why you’re so protective about it,” said Pennie. “It’s pretty disgusting. This is the first time I’ve been glad I don’t have a sense of smell any longer.”
“Don’t you?” Harold frowned. “Then how do you taste things?”
“I don’t.” Pennie gave him a quizzical look. “I’m a ghost, stupid. I don’t have to eat or drink or…” She looked down, “…poo.”
“Curious.” Harold did himself up and went to the sink to wash his hands. “What are you doing in here, anyway. You can’t have been curious.” A thought struck him. “Hey!” he said. “How come you’re free to wander about? I thought ghosts were tied to their place of death.”
“How should I know?” Pennie shrugged. “Perhaps that’s only if you’d found somewhere you wanted to be. I never really did care for that flat. I’d go and haunt Steven if he wasn’t dead already.”
“I heard about that,” said Harold, checking the soap from all three basins to use the one with fewest hairs attached. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault.” Pennie pointed. “Why is the soap hairy?”
“This is a gent’s,” said Harold. “Soap gets used up quickly in here.”
“Why?”
“It’s cheaper than petroleum jelly.”
“Oh.” Pennie appeared to darken. “Winston sent me in.”
“Why? Did he want you to compare us?”
“No, though you have an edge, if you want to know. He wanted me to tell you that Jim isn’t possessed right now. He said, this is the Jim he used to know. The demon’s not inside him.”
“I could tell that,” Harold said, “by the distinct lack of scintillating conversation and the fact he couldn’t see you. All demons can see the supernatural. It comes with the species.” Harold dried his hands on his trousers and pulled open the door.
“So what made him leave?”
“What?”
“What made the demon leave Jim’s body?”
Harold shook his head. “I haven’t a clue. I’ll work it out later when it’s not so loud, as I can’t think.”